The Scars That Heal
by Firewolf99
Summary: The infamous thief Sly Cooper, and the decorated Interpol agent Carmelita Fox, have quite the collection of scars between them. Now, several years after hanging up canes and pistols, the two explore their shared past, and different marks, together.
1. Chapter 1

Author Notes (1)

Hello there ladies and gents. I haven't uploaded any fics for donkey's years (probably literally- not a factoid I have to hand though), so this appearing may surprise some people. (Or not. Meh.) This is a new fandom for me in terms of fiction, but honestly, it's also for my favourite games of all time. Having almost literally just completed Sly 4 (and being mildly disappointed with it- especially the story) I decided to write a fic. This is (hopefully) going to be a three part piece (or a trilogy, as normal human beings call them), but the chapters may be able to stand alone. Still, we'll see what gets done!

Obviously, I don't own Sly Cooper, it's characters, it's plot's or its impeccable voice acting. I only own this.

This fic does contain Spanish, and seeing as English is my first language, I may have got it wrong. If I have, feel free to tell me. Or throw bilingual dictionaries at me. Whatever.

Also, apologies for the title. It kind of works, but meh.

* * *

**The Scars That Heal**

She shuddered as masterful hands crept over her haunches. A small grin teased its way across her lips, and she slowly rotated her way around to face her lover. "You know, you won't find any more if you just focus on _those_ areas."

He grinned at her, his hands resting on her hips, gripping softly to her amber fur as he shifted himself closer, till they were muzzle to muzzle, chest to chest. His uncovered eyes glinted with mischief, and she returned his look, prompting a small sigh of delight. "Why would I not want to touch you..." His hands slid over and around, cupping her again "... _here_"

She pushed him away: but not far, and giggling at his expression instead of snarling at his forwardness. She hadn't done that for a long time now. "_Madre dios_, Cooper. Enough. Let a woman rest." She stretched out, and ran her right hand delicately along his shoulder, "Besides, it's my turn. You forfeited."

The raccoon chuckled back at her. "And what a pleasant forfeit it was."

They soaked in the silence of the room for a second, limbs brushing slowly in a relaxed, gentle way: different to the vigorous, passionate sweeps of movement that their lovemaking inevitably became. The soft sunlight of the Paris midday tried in vain to seep through the curtains: but not today. This day, there will be no interruptions.

Then, Carmelita brushed under his neck. "Here."

Sly blinked a second. Then he traced her arm up with his hand, finding the spot that she was touching. A small ridge of flesh stuck out from underneath the fur, concealed from view. He rubbed it absent-mindly, his brow furrowed a second. Then it shot up, and he grinned. "Ah! The Old West!"

Carmelita sat up a little at that. "I don't remember you getting shot."

"It was before you arrived." Sly didn't question how she knew it was a bullet wound- she was a police officer, after all. Instead, he settled back against the bedpost. "We'd just broken out of jail..."

Carmelita's head shot up sharply, her eyes boring into him with a power that was generally used to make hardened criminals blubber like babies. "Somebody _arrested _you?"

Sly moved quickly, his arm wrapping around her as he pulled her close, soothing her with a gentle kiss to the brow. "On purpose. I got caught on purpose." He pulled back slightly, and smiled at her slight pout. "Don't worry, inspector. You're still the only one to catch me fair and square."

She grumbled a little, but couldn't hold out. With a sigh, she leant into him, her head on his chest, and let him continue.

"We were heading down onto the main street..."

"_Well smoke my pipe, kid, we lost them!" Tennessee said, grinning widely as he sauntered in front of Sly down the long, open street. "Those varmint's were dumber than a jug full-a eels."_

_Sly glanced up at the high buildings around them. "They were pretty stupid. I saw one of them trip over his shoelaces- and he wasn't even wearing his shoes!"_

_Tennessee let out a roaring chuckle, slapping his thigh. "I remember that one! That guy looked as stunned as a prairie dog with a sack of nuts." He paused briefly, and then looked back at Sly. There was a brief moment of consideration, before he stuck his hand out._

_Sly took it in his own, and shook it. Tennessee's gloves were thick, and made grasping difficult, but sly could feel the calluses lining his palms. These were gunslinger's hands._

"_Sly Cooper, huh?" Tennessee said, looking him dead in the eyes. "Guess that means I gotta find me a woman and settle down, huh?"_

_Sly chuckled. "Maybe not quite yet, but yeah." _

_Tennessee released him from the grip, and stuck his hands in his pockets as he continued along. "Well, there was that lynx up in Green River. Pretty as a sunset over a whiskey, she was, and kind as the lord himself. Mind you, she had a tongue on her like a nest of vipers..."_

"_Ok, seriously, do you do that with every sentence?" Sly asked._

_Tennessee looked at him blankly. "What you prattling on about now, ki-"_

_Suddenly, a gunshot rang out from very close by. Well trained reflexes kicked in, and both thieves were moving almost before the sound faded away, diving behind a set of crates underneath an overhanging storefront. Bullets whistled overhead, several thudding into the wood of the boxes, as previously unseen coyote stepped out of dark corners and unloaded furiously at the two racoons._

"_Well, that'll teach us to lollygag like two lazy lizards" Tennessee grimaced as he reached down, instinctively, for a cane that wasn't there. "We'd better make a run for it, kid."_

_The reply he got was delivered in pants, and Tennessee turned to his companion. Sly was holding a hand to his neck, blood leaking around his gloves. He glanced at Tennessee's shocked face, and managed a grin._

"_It's not as bad as it looks," He said, his customary wit muted in pain, "But it's pretty sore. We need to get back to the hideout fast, or you'll be carrying me."_

"_Well", Tennessee said slowly, glancing around him, "We ain't got nowhere to run, and that door'll take too long to pick out in the open. I'd say we're caught like two bears in a steel trap."_

"_THUNDER FLOP!"_

_Suddenly, a loud explosion sounded from the other side of the crates, and the crack of guns was replaced with pained yelps and the sound of fist on fur. Tennessee's eyes widened to near impossible levels, and he quickly spun around to look over the makeshift barricade._

"_What in the?"_

_A pink hippo was laying waste to the thugs that had previously had them cornered. Dressed in a racing helmet and blue shirt, the hippo was ripping his way through the crooks like a whirlwind, punching, kicking and tossing his opponents around like rag dolls. Even as he watched, the hippo picked up two coyote's and smacked their heads together, before throwing them both into separate barrels._

"_THE MURRAY IS UPON YOU! MY FISTS WILL TEAR INTO YOUR SOULS, AND CREAM THEM INTO JELLO!"_

_Tennessee blinked at that. Before he could comment on the... passion... in the hippo's voice, he felt a tapping on his back. Whirling around, he was surprised to see a turtle, sitting in what appeared to be... well..._

_It looked like a chair on wheels. With tentacles. And what looked like shiny, metal balls with buttons on them._

_For once, Tennessee was lost for words._

"_We need to move. Murray can't hold off all of Toothpick's forces on his own for long." The turtle looked over at the blue suited Racoon, and gasped. "SLY!"_

"_It's okay, Bentley. It's just a scratch. Give me some bandages and I'll be back on my feet in no time," Sly said, bravely- though a brief wince betrayed the actual pain he was going through. Tennessee was impressed, despite that. He'd been shot before- multiple times, in fact. It hadn't been fun in any way. But the kid was holding up well, considering._

"_C'mon. Let's get out of here."_

"The bullet grazed me worse than I'd thought, but it still didn't do any real damage." Sly finished up, his hand tracing patterns on Carmelita's back. The two were still entwined in the same position, though the vixen had pulled the covers up to cover her shoulders and his torso. "After Bentley wrapped it up overnight, I didn't even lose any fur. It was only in Berlin that I noticed it, putting on that pilot gear every 5 minutes."

Carmelita murmured sleepily, under her breath. Sly only half caught it, but he didn't press her on it. That year had been difficult to talk about for a while now, and he didn't want to spoil the day by bringing it up.

Instead, he poked her in the ribs.

The vixen hissed and pulled herself up, face once again frowning at him. The covers slipped off of her, and Sly took the opportunity to admire her form once more, before looking up at her indignant face. "_Pucha!_ What was that for?"

"Because it looked like somebody didn't want to play fair," Sly teased, before tracing a hand down her navel. "It's my turn, and yet you're falling asleep on me. Surely my story wasn't that boring?"

Before Carmelita could reply, the raccoon ran his hand over her head, bunching her locks in one hand as his other ran across her scalp. The vixen growled, but remained still, letting his actions slide for now. Instead, she waited for him to find what he was searching for, and began talking.

"Cooper, there's only one mark up there, and you know what caused it. Do you really need to...?"

"Found it!" He exclaimed loudly, causing her to wince and him to sheepishly pull her in for a kiss. After several moments he pulled back, and ran his fingers over the circular raise on her head.

"You know, you shouldn't be so happy about finding a scar you caused, Cooper." Fox grumbled, as she prodded him in the chest with one finger. "I might decide to pay you back for it."

"Come on, inspector." Carmelita found herself being pulled onto Sly's lap, and she blushed as she felt the intimate contact. "I never did find out why you were watching me shower. Hardly a tactic from the Interpol handbook." His hands found their preferred position, around her bum, pulling her in. "I mean, I would know. I read it cover to cover to find the section on bathroom surveillance."

Carmelita smacked his arms away. "You would, wouldn't you." A flick on the muzzle. "Pervert."

"Pot and kettle, Carmelita."

She shook her head. "Fine. I'll tell you. But this is the last time it is mentioned, got it?"

"But what about the-"

"No buts, ifs or in cases, thief. Got it?"

Sly brought one hand back to his chest and mimed shutting a lock. The other returned to her backside. Carmelita narrowed her eyes, but let it go at the sight of a cheeky grin that, once again, threatened to melt her into a soppy smile. Instead, she started talking, looking slightly above the head of her lover in order to prevent distraction.

"It was the first time you had ever slipped up when I'd been assigned to your case."

"_The suspect and his accomplices got cocky" Corks's voice continued over the radio as Carmelita sped towards the block of flats in South London that the criminals were housed in. "They've not moved out of the country even after pulling the job. We managed to trace shipments of Granpeed oil to their residence- a rare diamond polish which is the only lubricant that could maintain the full sheen of the Odin's Eye."_

"_With any luck, they won't have sold it on yet, and we'll have these thieves behind bars. Two years of work finally paying off." The inspector grinned as she pulled into an empty parking space, killed the ignition, and reached for her floor holster. "We've got him this time, Corks."_

"_Err... Them, Inspector."_

_Carmelita blinked. "Yes, of course them. He's just... He's..." She blinked again, and then shook her head. "My apologies, Corks. I must need more sleep after last night."_

"_Is it true what the boy's are saying about how he..."_

"_Yes."_

"_And he got away in a..."_

"_YES."_

"_And what he did to your..."_

"_CORKS!"_

"_Sorry, Ma'am. I'll get off the line now."_

_The click came a couple of seconds before Carmelita's angry reply. The vixen growled at the handheld transceiver, before slotting the device back into the clasp. She drew her shock pistol, unclipped her seat-belt, and exited the vehicle._

_The smell of London varies from district to district- but here, it was primarily chip fat, with a tinge of batter. Carmelita had seen the chippy around the corner which was giving off the invasive smell, and she wrinkled her nose at the pungent aroma. 3 days ago, she had been eating oysters and salmon canapé's in Monte Carlo, at one of the Ecclebones' private parties. She didn't approve of Interpol schmoozing with the old terrier, but she was quite willing to dress up, go out and enjoy a night of tango's, tastes and table manners._

_Then the call came through of Cooper's sighting. Which had been followed by hours of preparation, a full day of sitting in a car observing a location that turned out to be false, and then the shambles last night that, to her dying day, she would never repeat to anyone. _

_Even under pain of torture._

_And now, here she was, in a dirty alleyway in south London with the smell of grease in her nose. _

_And also, the smell of victory._

_She quickly entered the building opposite the suspects, swiftly jogging up the stairs in order to reach the roof. No-one came out to see what was going on, although she did pass by a young hedgehog and her badger boyfriend coming the other way. They gave her a dirty look as she pushed past them, but she didn't look back._

_Quickly, she exited the roof, and made her way across the concrete to the edge of the building. She knelt down on the lip of the roof, and pulled herself prone, reaching for the set of binoculars around her neck._

_She was so close. So close to finally ending this ridiculous pursuit, and focusing on more important things. Honestly, she was getting sick of this hunt. The constant near misses, the ridiculous hours, the desperate flirtations that only seemed to rile her more and more as time wore on. Did the raccoon really think that..._

_Her brain short circuited._

_Certainly, it was what it felt like. For a good four seconds, no activity seemed to register. No thoughts, judgements, or potential actions even crossed her mind. She lay there completely unresponsive, only coming back somewhat to reality when a loud noise startled her into alertness. A noise she realised was her own deep inhalation._

_The Ringtail was in the shower._

_Or, rather, he had just left the shower, and for some reason, had decided to leave the curtains open. _

_This correction didn't occur to Carmelita. In fact, it couldn't have, because the original thought did not actually occur either. There was simple registration, observation, and a pink/red haze that flushed her vision._

_Sly's muscles were mostly hidden by his fur, but there was no denying that the raccoon was built for athleticism. His legs were tightened whip-cords, with an untamed nimbleness that guided him effortlessly around rooftops, museum interiors and, once, the dance floor of the White House itself. The arms, while slim, seemed quite capable of strength to hold and lift (and caress...). The chest was broader than she expected, perhaps because he was not half crouched as he usually was when she saw him, but standing upright. Either way, it looked like it could take a beating (or a scratch, a stroke, a kiss...). And then, further down... _

_Dios mio. How did it stay hidden?_

_Carmelita was stunned. Almost literally, as it were. Her head simply couldn't reconcile the idea of the cheeky, immature annoyance that plagued her career with the naked specimen nonchalantly winking at her from his bathr-_

_Carmelita froze stock still. She lost track of her breathing again, and a small, almost indistinguishable noise left her mouth._

_Then, she span around quickly, attempting to hide her head behind the lip of the building. Unfortunately, in her haste, she misjudged the distance entirely. Her head connected with the building lip with a loud crack- and she was out._

"When I woke up, I found a bandage round my head, a pillow holding it up off the ground, and a box of Belgian chocolates next to me." Carmelita glared down at the thief, who was still chuckling. "I presume they were Bentley's idea, as you are obviously far too immature to think of helping an unconscious woman."

Sly clasped his hand over his heart. "Inspector! How could you accuse me of such a heinous crime? Of course I suggested we help you." He looked around slightly, as if checking to see whether someone had somehow planted a bug within the room, before whispering quietly, "Actually, Bentley thought we should leave you."

Carmelita raised an eyebrow and tilted her head at him, clearly doubtful.

"He still thought of you as a cop." Sly shrugged, "And besides, you probably wouldn't have been in any danger."

"I don't suppose he thought of providing me with a heart shaped box of chocolates or love poetry either." Carmelita inquired, folding her arms and tapping her fingers on her elbow.

Sly began to move his hands again, stroking her fur carefully, all the while whistling innocently. At a glare from his lover, he switched to humming, a lilting melody that was too repetitive to be anything but a childhood song. Carmelita knew there would be no answer- Sly was a master at resisting interrogation, despite maintaining a near 100% record of not being caught (Only the purple tigress bitch, Jean Bison and Carmelita herself had managed it: and she was the only one that counted anyway.)

Instead, Carmelita moved on. "It was after that happened that I became... obsessive. I'd humiliated myself and let you get away, and my bosses were not happy. Gradually, I began to focus myself more and more on finding you. I'd take on cases simply because sightings of your gang coincided with them. I once spent two days staking out the hideout of a man calling himself "the Raccoon Robber" because I thought you'd hit him for everything he had. I only left when you were reported to be in Brazil- and then when I returned, the guy was in custody with a broken nose for shoplifting."

Sly chuckled. "Yeah. He was too small-time to even bother with. I almost felt sorry for him."

Carmelita smirked, but her eyes were still unfocused. "It was..." her tone dropped, and she became quieter, more pensive. "It was also where I first thought of you as Sly. Not a criminal I was hunting, but a person that was infuriating, annoying... and yet witty and, occasionally, charming."

"_Occasionally_ charming?" Sly removed his arms, looking wounded.

Carmelita snorted down at him. "Of course. Most of the time, you're just a pain, Cooper."

Sly grabbed her arms in order to roll her over, but Carmelita was more than prepared, blocking his maneuver by grabbing his own limbs and attempting a pin of her own. Thief reflexes met combat training head on, blow for blow, and they spent the next 3 hours deciding how irritating Sly really was.

Needless to say, they were both winners.

* * *

So yeah. There you go. Hopefully, I'll have two more chapters for you before August. Hopefully. Please Review!


	2. Chapter 2

Author Note (2)

I had an author note typed out. And then my laptop decided, "Nope. Gonna go back without asking you. Soz!"

Stupid 4 year old laptops.

Thanks to all the great reviews and positive feedback. This is probably my most popular fanfic to date- which is odd, considering I've done two Mass Effect fanfics, and they have loads of posters...

Eh.

Apologies for Mistranlations, mislocatings and misunderstandings. I don't own Sly Cooper: If I did, Sly 4 would have been a full game and had a much better plot. Like, a Gazillion times better. And Penelope's personality wouldn't have been hate-raped.

* * *

**The Scars That Heal**

It was unusual for the two of them to eat in. Neither of them were great shakes at cooking: Sly had rarely needed to while Murray was around, and Carmelita lived off a bizarre combination of quick to cook microwave meals and fancy dinners thrown by wealthy socialites with valuable artefacts to protect. In consequence, neither had much aptitude in the activity to begin with.

But since they'd moved in together, into this condo in Paris's city centre, they'd tried to at least spend some nights cooking. Murray had been more than happy to lend them some recipe cards (though Sly had flatly refused to even consider the spicy Indian stew- apparently, there were some stories Sly would never tell the inspector. It didn't bother her that much- he'd never find out about the _Single Bearing_ poster she still kept either), and every couple of weeks they'd stay in and cook in their modest kitchen.

After the fire brigade had been called twice, they'd decided to build up to the more complicated dishes. Currently, they were sticking to pasta dishes, with the occasional risotto thrown in for variety.

Tonight, it was lasagne.

Before Kaine Island and his false amnesia, Sly had often wondered whether Carmelita owned other clothing than her navy tube top and trousers, yellow jacket and brown boots. He had seen the blue dress- he hadn't been able to take his eyes off it, in fact- but he'd presumed that it was some form of Interpol issue garment, that would be returned afterwards.

He had been very happy to find out that, not only did she own the dress, but a full wardrobe besides.

Since moving in with her after hanging up the cane, he'd become intimately involved with it.

Tonight, she was wearing an outfit that had him entirely distracted- a long blue shirt, the same colour as his old one, but slightly bigger, so as to serve as a (deliciously short) dress. Sly hadn't yet managed to find out what was underneath, thanks to the vixen's dexterity and a series of frowns and playful pokes. The last time she had let him distract her in the kitchen was the last time the fire department had been called.

She stirred the mince slowly as it cooked on the hob, while Sly began on the béchamel sauce next to her, melting the butter in a saucepan. He reached around her to grab a wooden spoon, brushing up against her back as he did. At another sideways glance, he raised his hands in platitude, receiving a shake of the head and a slow grin as a reward.

"So, I was thinking about this weekend..." He began.

"Be careful ringtail. Don't want to strain anything in there." Carmelita replied, her eyes focused on the mince, waiting for it to brown. Her smile curved mischievously.

Sly chuckled. "Hilarious. Ignoring that, how do you feel about China?"

The noise of Carmelita's spoon against the saucepan stopped. It clinked on the sideboard as she slowly laid it down, before turning to face the raccoon next to her, who was continuing to innocently stir the butter. "China?"

Sly looked back at her, his face blank. He nodded. "China."

"You're thinking this weekend, we travel halfway around the world and go to... China?" She folded her arms.

"Yes." Sly kept looking into her eyes, refusing to give anything away. "The Himalayas, if we're being exact."

"The Him-" She paused and squinted at him slightly. "Wait... Not the Kunlun Mountains?"

Sly finally cracked a grin. "Can't fault that wonderful deductive mind of yours, inspector." He leant in for a kiss, but was stopped by Carmelita's hand on his chest.

"Nah-ah, thief. Start explaining."

Pouting is difficult with a muzzle, but Sly managed it. "You always spoil my fun." He turned back to the pot and started adding the flour before continuing. "We've been invited to a wedding."

"Jing King?" Carmelita asked, surprised, as she turned back to her mince. "I thought she was still..."

"Yeah, no." Sly assured, keeping his eyes on the sauce. "I'm not sure that's ever going to happen. No, it's actually someone you'd never expect."

"Well, I know it's not Tsao."

"Hey, I think he had a real soft spot for you." Sly nudged her with his elbow. "After all, you did nearly become his bride."

"Considering what I sealed our pact with, I doubt his thoughts of me are... fond." Carmelita snorted, turning the heat down on the pan. "Besides, I know he's locked up for at least another six years."

"More excellent detective work." Sly clapped his hands together. "So, that leaves..."

"Surely not the Panda King himself?" Carmelita asked, perturbed. When Sly didn't answer, she turned to see him smiling, and gasped. "No. _No es posible, _Sly. That old man..."

"Met an old woman." Sly said. "Apparently Jing's been bugging them to get married for ages. She reckons they can't expect her to get married if they don't, and daddy wants some grandchildren, sooo..."

"_No puedo creer__que_" Carmelita laughed. "I had no idea."

"I think everyone's a little surprised." Sly turned the heat down on his side, and put his arms around the vixen beside him. "It'll be nice to see that scenery again though. The mountains, the snow, the... bamboo..."

"Smooth, raccoon." Carmelita deadpanned. She traced a hand across his ribs, keeping him from pulling her any closer and making her forget about dinner. "Still..." She smiled wistfully, head down in thought, "It'd be nice to go back. There's a lot of... memories."

She pinched a raised piece of tissue that lanced across his stomach, and Sly grinned. "Ah. Yes. Yes there are..."

* * *

_When Sly had started his campaign against the Fiendish Five, he hadn't quite realised that there would be so much travelling. Before the quest, he'd stuck mostly to European jobs, with the occasional trip to North Africa or the Middle East. (His argument was that they were close to the hideout in Paris. Bentley was convinced that it was because Interpol wasn't as active outside the EU.) _

_The trip from Wales to Mesa City had included a lengthy drive, where he'd been able to sleep off the excess hours. Mesa City and Haiti weren't a great distance from each other, and had also ended in a van journey through the dense brush of the Caribbean Jungle. The journey from Haiti to China, however, had been shorter, and he had been mostly hidden in a plane's luggage compartment. Thus, a number had been done on his co-ordination thanks to a healthy dose of Jet Lag._

_To top it all off, he'd arrived at the Panda King's hideout at night. Now he was struggling to stay awake and competent. What he needed was something to give him an energy boost. Something invigorating and energetic, as opposed to slow and ponderous._

"_Freeze Raccoon!"_

_Ah. The lovely Ms. Carmelita. Just what the doctor ordered._

_Sly turned to look across the buildings towards where the vixen was stood. She appeared to be wearing her usual ensemble- a bizarre choice, given the frozen conditions surrounding them. Sly could hardly complain though- he hadn't changed into anything warmer either, trusting in his fur to keep him warm._

_Or maybe he had hoped the cold would wake him up._

_It hadn't. It had just made him more miserable._

_However, he was feeling much cheerier now, with the delectable Inspector standing atop the stone dragon head across from him. He was even feeling a little hotter._

"_How can I freeze when my heart warms at the very sight of you?" He tried, and internally winced at how forced it seemed to sound. He still wasn't at his best today._

_Carmelita didn't seem to notice though. Instead, she scowled at him._

"_Shut up, ringtail!"_

_Ouch. That was harsher than usual. There hadn't even been a hint of the teasing wordplay the two had employed in Mesa City._

_Maybe she was still annoyed about the balloon thing._

"_I don't know what you're doing here in China," She continued, maintaining her slightly peeved tone, "But I'm sure it can't be good for whoever owns this place."_

_She... didn't know where she was?_

_Sly couldn't believe it. Inspector Fox was standing in the middle of one of the largest illegal weapons factories in the world, less than a mile from an international terrorist that had buried a village under an avalanche and was responsible for murder, extortion and smuggling in exorbitant amounts, and she was focusing on HIM? The THEIF?_

_Sly felt simultaneously pleased and irritated by her proclamation._

"_You must only have eyes for me if you're too blind to see what's going on around here." He fired back, hoping to provoke her back into their usual teasing exchanges._

_It didn't exactly work._

"_All I see is a pathetic thief," she sneered, "who's escaped justice for far too long."_

_This wasn't fun. This wasn't fun at all. In fact, this was the exact opposite of fun. Sly had never really been angry with Carmelita before, but he could feel his temper rising. He jabbed his cane towards her, his face starting to scrunch up in fury. How dare she compare him to the Panda King? How DARE she?!_

"_I'm proud to be a thief! Especially when I'm stealing from a vicious extortionist like the Panda King! Open your eyes detective!"_

_He gestured around him, and was gratified to see her eyes following the motion of his hands. She seemed to be slightly taken aback at his frank words, and he pressed on, determined to hammer his point home. "These 'quaint temples' are the front for an illegal explosives factory."_

_Carmelita seemed stunned. She was slowly looking around her, a contemplative expression on her face. Then, to Sly's displeasure, she shook her head and refocused on the thief in front of her, her shock pistol pointed straight at him, razor sharp and more alert than he'd felt for hours. "Don't try to confuse the issue. You criminals are all the same and none of you can escape justice."_

_Talk about a one track mind. Sly wasn't getting anywhere, and to be honest, he was too exhausted and too grumpy to carry on with this. He needed the treasure key in the mouth of that dragon statue, and he wasn't going to keep waiting for it. So, without even bothering to correct or answer her, he took off, leaping onto a rope and sliding down to the top of a building some distance away._

_He heard a startled yell from behind him, before the familiar sounds of electrified projectiles began to buzz like ferocious wasps. He kept moving forwards; finally starting to warm up to comfortable levels as he, once again, ran from the inspector. _

_This was the game they played so well. It was almost like a dance, both spinning and flipping smoothly through near impossible manoeuvres. He twirled and landed upon the thin top of a lantern- she somersaulted onto a chimney across from him. He rolled out of a jump that landed him by a firework- she twisted out of the way of the sparking projectile, despite the fact that it never would have hit her. He never wanted to do this with anyone else: and yet he still could not forget her words. The ugly look in her eyes as she called him a criminal. The bile that rose in his throat, as she compared him to the psychopath who helped to kill his father. _

_How could she not see the difference between the Panda King and himself?_

_Why did he care if she did?_

_He dodged out of the way of another shock shot, and fired two more fireworks at the roof. A row of icicles began to fall. Quickly, he began to leap across, spotting Carmelita ahead of him, standing on the only way out, a frustrated look on her face._

_They'd been getting better. Their banter had been becoming easier, even flirtatious on her part instead of just his more recently, and he'd almost been hoping for... well, he wasn't really sure what he'd been hoping for. He'd have said 'something more', but honestly, he had no clue what._

_But now, she looked like she did at the beginning. Cold, hard, and focused entirely on shooting him._

_Or rather, shooting the icicle out from beneath him._

_Sly caught her smug expression as the ice began to break apart under his feet, her smile for once not beautiful to him, but almost... ugly. And he snapped._

_He threw himself towards her like a cannonball, and tackled her around the waist. _

_She tried to dive out the way, but she obviously hadn't expected him, and he crashed into her, forcing them both up against a rock face. She was hardly phased, though, and quickly retaliated with a double gut punch. He growled in pain, and swung his elbow up into her snout reflexively. She snapped her head back instantly, minimising the blow, and countered with a double handed strike on the top of his neck. He toughed it out, and responded. _

_The fight went back and forth, the only noises being grunts, hisses and the occasional cry of pain. They rolled onto the floor, fell against a pillar, and even, briefly, backed off for a breather, before charging back into the fray._

_Sly had never been this close to the vixen. Never been pressed up against her, fur rubbing, breaths mingling in panting ferocity. Not in real life anyway. His head, however, was an entirely different place._

_The combat began to morph. Blows came fewer and farther between, and the objective became pinning the opponent. After several revolutions, Carmelita finally got the upper hand, forcing her body down upon the raccoons, chest to chest, arms locked in an outstretched position. _

_However, neither opponent stopped moving. Instead, the actions changed. Muzzles began to nose across bodies. Bucking searched for contact, as opposed to release. Legs intertwined to maximise feeling and prevent movement for more selfish reasons._

_He was lost in the feel of her body. His anger had melted away into passion, and he was sure that, sooner than he'd ever dreamed, he'd finally experience that mouth pressed against his..._

"_There they are!"_

_The loss of weight was sudden to Sly, but it was entirely likely that his sense of time was disjointed. All he knew was that, one second he was desperately close to... something he couldn't think about now. The next, he had two flashlights trained on him, and Inspector Fox was nowhere to be seen._

_Sly smirked up at the angry looking monkeys above him._

"_Hello, gentleman. I'd say you've caught me with my pants down, but..."_

_The two guards fell backwards, making a crackling noise as they collapsed_

_Sly blinked. "Okay, that's not..." _

_Realisation struck. The noise came before the guards went down and, if he knew the Inspector, then he wouldn't be far behind joining them._

_Quickly, he rolled up into an upright position, and threw himself up the rock face, just in time to avoid a hail of electronic firepower. He caught sight of the inspector out of the corner of his eye as he moved. Her expression was wild: but there was less ferocity in her face now, tempered with irritation and a twinkle that he hoped was desire. Her clothes were ruffled- her jacket hung off one sleeve, and her trousers seemed to be riding a little lower than usual. Her hair was tufted in several places, and she had blood dripping off her hands._

_Wait. Blood?_

_Sly suddenly felt the pain across his stomach, as he grabbed the treasure key from the mouth of the Dragon, and swung out of sight between two buildings. He looked down, and saw a trail of blood leaking down onto the floor._

"_Ouch. Huh." He mused as he raced off, the sounds of a frustrated inspector behind him. "I never knew police officers could be so wild."_

* * *

Carmelita prodded him in the ribs. "You did _not_ say that."

Sly smirked, dodging the next attack on his sensitive stomach by dancing out of reach, releasing her from his hold. "Well, give me credit. Up until then, I had no idea how... _feral_, you officers could be."

"Keep digging, _idiota._ I don't think there's enough dirt piled around you yet."

Sly smiled. Then, something settled around him, and his gaze became penetrating. "Did it help?"

There was a short pause. Then, Carmelita looked down, and nodded.

"It wasn't a good day." The vixen began to tap on the sideboard. "I'd... I'd been in the village. The one the Panda King hit a day before. Only nobody was telling us how it had happened. As far as we knew, it was a random accident It was..." She shifted her weight, and brought a hand up to her brow, scratching absently at a small mark on her forehead.

Sly moved back towards her, and pulled her into another embrace. He knew she wouldn't cry- Carmelita never cried unless Chavela Vargas was playing. Sly only needed to know that she had been played at her father's funeral, and that was enough to make sure that he kept the Latina songbird firmly away from the stereo- a feat that Carmelita seemed to be unwittingly fighting him on, judging by the vast amount of her albums she had accumulated on her MP4 player.

Carmelita found the curve in her partner's neck and carried on. "I climbed up without sleeping to check if there was something wrong. And then, the next firework went off, and I watched as another village was buried under ice and snow." She pulled away slightly, eyes downcast once more, and clenched her fists. "I was furious. Enraged. I couldn't think, and then I saw you and I-"

"You needed to vent." Sly nodded, ducking his head to try and meet her gaze. "I get it, Carmelita." He hesitated. "What... what was it like?"

Carmelita ran a hand through his hair, looking up. "You never saw it?" She barely waited for his reply. "No. Of course not." She let out a sigh. "It was awful. Half the people were dead on impact- but the others..."

Sly moved to say something, but Carmelita kept talking through him. Her words seemed pre –rehearsed, and Sly suddenly knew that this was not the first time she'd talked about this. Of course Interpol would have psychological exams: No good having officers become mentally unstable (though one had to wonder how they didn't catch Inspector Neyla and her psychotic megalomania). The raccoon didn't move his position, still trying to get her eyes to focus on him and not through him. He started stroking her lower back soothingly.

"I've seen an awful lot of injuries in my time: more than I've ever expected. But I'd never expected to see children crushed by snow; shrapnel wounds from split ice; bones squished like_.._." She made a gesture with her hands and a small noise in the back of her throat, before continuing, "And those who survived... Frostbite forced the doctors to amputate, but hospital conditions meant amputation lead to gangrene, and..."

She shied away at the last moment, but Sly got the picture.

"It sounds horrible."

"It was." Carmelita pulled out of his embrace, and picked up the pan of mince. She brought it over to the clay dish, focused on the task. "And now I'm going to the wedding of the man who caused it."

Sly winced as he followed her over, taking the sheet pasta out of the cardboard box and laying it on top of the first layer of mince. "We can always decline the invitation. I mean... we'll struggle to find a decent excuse now that we've retired, but..."

Carmelita shook her head. "After all he's done for you since? Besides, he's not exactly the same man."

"Yeah. The fury in his eyes is for justice, not cruelty." Sly noted, solemnly as she poured the second layer.

There was a comfortable silence for a few seconds. Then, Carmelita's head snapped up to look dead at him. "Hang on, ringtail. Those were my words!"

Sly's serious expression melted into a confused one. "Err... what?"

"My words! Mine! As in, the words I had to force into your head with a shock pistol. I had to HIT you with the thing to get you to listen to them!" Carmelita ranted as she prodded him in the muzzle with a free talon. "There's still a dent in the grip!"

"What ARE you talking about?" Sly was still confused. "I just made that phrase up!"

"YOU. DID. NOT! I told you them, Raccoon! During the Tsao affair, remember?" Carmelita pointed at the mark on her forehead. "When you gave me this?"

Sly blinked. "I gave you that?"

Carmelita threw her hands up, disbelief plastered over her face. "You don't... _Diablo_, Cooper!"

Suddenly, Sly's eyes shot wide. "That SCARRED?"

"Well, you threw it very hard." Carmelita pointed out, smirking.

"Yeah, but... I thought it was a snowball." Sly replied, almost breathlessly, unable to comprehend what he was hearing. His eyes were rooted to the round scar on her forehead, where the fur lightened slightly for a brief patch of hair. He therefore failed to see the jab to his ribs until he was already bending over in reaction.

"Yes, darling." There was a playful bite to her words. "That's what you said at the time. Remember?"

* * *

_Inspector Fox wasn't sure how Tsao had managed it._

_She'd been here for two hours, and already she had seen over 40 guards within this inner complex. Carmelita was amazed by the level of security in this compound- she wasn't even sure how Tsao could have this many staff on site without alerting Interpol earlier. His forces and firepower far outranked that of the last Himalayan temple she'd been in._

_She refused to think about that time. In all honesty, it hadn't even occurred to her for a while. There were plenty of unpleasant events in her life, enough that one in particular never stood out compared to any others. Perhaps Sirasu was the most graphic, but Detroit was probably more shocking, and Prague..._

_Anyway, it didn't matter how bad the Himalayas had been last time, because right now, it looked worse. The Panda King was cruel, and had no qualms about targeting civilians, certainly- but he didn't have a thing for displaying the corpses of his enemies. Or for enslaving them and making the empty shells wander the street as vampiric guards._

_That was just... disgusting_

_She refocused on what she was looking at. She'd found herself on the walls of the inner compound, hidden under an oriental lion statue. She'd decided to start scanning the outer reaches of the temple, in the hope of finding some form of entry point for a full scale assault. She'd already ruled out the southern approach- a single track road that would be the ideal choke point for an ambush. The mountain ranges to the east and west were simply too high for any form of ground assault, and Tsao's array of anti aircraft defences (there were a surprising amount of ground to air missile silos on those peaks) made any attack from the air an act of insanity. So, now she was looking to the north, and whether a naval assault would be just as pointless._

_She was intensely scrutinising the high coastline, wondering whether the dark patches of shadow on the Cliffside hid some form of depth charge dispensers, when something unexpected caught her eye. She refocused her viewer in disbelief. It couldn't be what it looked like. It just couldn't._

_Because what it looked like was Sly Cooper, sitting down on top of Tsao's treasure palace, slumped over his cane and tapping his foot._

_What was HE doing here?_

_Carmelita wouldn't have pegged Tsao as owning anything Sly would want to steal- especially as the raccoon's MO seemed to have changed as of recently. Carmelita was convinced that the thief was on some sort of recruitment drive, what with the incidents in Australia, and the disappearance of Penelope Muis (AKA: The Black Baron) after the shambles that was the ACES tournament._

_If Interpol had just been willing to intervene quicker, they'd have Cooper in custody now. They had easy jurisdiction in Holland, of all places. But no. Apparently, Muggshot's capture required more verification and paperwork than usual, due to his large size and injuries upon capture: Honestly, these criminals were being babied more and more. So that smug, egotistical little outlaw got live TV coverage and his name on a trophy, while she got posted to somewhere freezing in order to plan an assault on a rooster._

_Carmelita refused to believe that Cooper was here to recruit Tsao. He may have been a smug, egotistical little outlaw, but he had some degree of honour._

'_And a good sense of humour,' agreed that treacherous little part of her brain that leapt at any opportunity to think about Cooper in more detail. 'And good taste in clothing. And films. And music. He looks good in a suit too, and he's a wonderful kiss-'_

'_Criminal', reminded the other side of her brain._

'_But-'_

'_CRIMINAL.'_

'_Spoilsport.'_

_Carmelita growled out a curse. She really didn't need another psych evaluation. She had no time for competing voices in her head. What she needed to do is get up there and catch the thief, while he seemed to be distracted._

_She ignored the suggestion that she was going up to see why Sly looked upset._

_It took her only five minutes to appear behind Cooper. She was panting slightly in exertion, and she'd slipped twice trying to get up that hill without being detected. So when the thief didn't move once as she arrived, she knew that something was up._

_She didn't allow herself to care, but still._

"_Hand's in the air, ringtail." She barked, shock pistol raised chest-high to point at his back._

_Sly only turned his head slightly, murmured her name, and returned to looking out over the mountains._

_This was a trap._

_It had to be a trap._

_There was no way her thief could be acting this... this..._

_Emo!_

"_You think I'm joking, Ringtail? You obviously weren't as focused on me as you like to think you were during our meetings. Raise those hands now! You're under arrest!" She shifted her stance, eyes flickering all around to catch a glimpse of whatever projectile the Cooper gang were hoping to nail her with this time._

_She really hoped they'd not gone back to the custard pie idea. She'd never felt so humiliated, walking out of a circus tent covered in yellow cream._

_What she didn't expect was Sly to slowly start to ball snow in his palm, stand up, and turn around to face her, a brooding look upon his face._

_He really didn't look good. Certainly not ill- physically, he seemed as ridiculously lithe and yet muscled as he usually did ('Criminal. Criminal. Criminal.' Her mind droned). But his expression was deeply troubling- he seemed... drained. There was a distinct lack of energy in his movements._

_Focusing on his expression, unfortunately, meant that Carmelita missed the ball of snow heading for her forehead. She certainly didn't miss the impact._

_She gave a high pitched yowl of pain, and fell down to one knee in surprise. She felt slightly dazed for a few seconds, before the feeling of liquid in her fur alerted her that she'd been cut. She looked up at the raccoon in disbelief, and was almost relieved to see that his expression matched hers. _

_She was still pissed though._

"_Cabrón! That hurt!" she snarled at him._

"_I...I thought it was a snowball," Sly answered weakly. He inched forwards- but was halted in his tracks by a jab of a shock pistol, raising his hands in pacification as she snarled out several more curse words._

"_You'd better hope I believe that, ringtail, or I'm going to make this more painful than you imagined." _

_She breathed in several times, reaching up to pinch the blood into her fur and prevent it from running into her eyes. Then, she refocused her aim on the raccoon. He still looked slightly shaken, which was good not just for her ego- but also for her chances of finally, finally seeing the ringtail behind bars._

"_Well, do you?" He asked, the humour in his tone fragile_

_She ignored the question, moving closer towards him and reaching down to her belt for her handcuffs. She slowly inched forwards, drawing her tongue against her muzzle in a mixture of apprehension and anticipation. Then, finally, she enclosed the raccoon's wrists in iron._

_And for the second time in her career, she had Sly Cooper in chains._

_It felt about as bad as it did last time as well._

"_What's going on, Cooper?" she used an authoritative tone, one that had, almost a week ago, made Muggshot tell her about stealing toffee sweets from his grandmother. "What kind of trick is this?"_

"_No trick, Carmelita." Sly replied. "But if you honestly think you needed the steel bracelets to get me to talk to you, you obviously weren't as focused on me as you like to think you were during our meetings."_

_Carmelita stiffened at the turning of her own words against her, and the sharp tone he used to deliver them. She poked the shock pistol into his face. "I'm not your therapist, Cooper. If you want to vent out in the open, go ahead, but don't expect me to..."_

"_We're working with the Panda King." Sly interrupted bluntly._

_Well she certainly didn't expect that._

_Carmelita's mouth opened and closed several times in surprise. The Panda King? As in, the man Cooper had ranted at her about four years ago? The mass murderer? Cooper, the 'master thief' who 'only stole from criminals', was working with the psychopath? Okay, maybe the fireworks expert had been through prison, and a full mental evaluation for early release, but still..._

"_Not my choice, of course." Sly muttered, a bitter twist to his voice._

_Carmelita finally felt up to replying. "Well of course. I mean... He's an extortionist, which isn't your style at all, and..."_

"_And he helped kill my father."_

_Carmelita started. She had completely forgotten that particular titbit. "Y-Yes, yes, there's that too, and... um..."_

_She was thrown for a loop now. If Cooper was so opposed to this move, then why was he doing it? Wasn't he the leader of his group? Had there been some sort of coup?_

_Carmelita didn't think so. Cooper chose his gang well and she knew the depths to the bonds of loyalty between the three core members from personal experience. There was no way he would be displaced as leader that easily. This, unfortunately, left her still grasping for answers to her questions._

"_But Bentley says we need his help, and that he's changed; and now Murray thinks he's a hero, and Penelope's grumpy that I don't trust him, and the Guru is always talking to him, and none of them seem to have any problem with the fact that the guy helped... helped..."_

_Sly slumped down even further, almost falling to the floor as Carmelita stared at his outburst. He did realise that she had him in chains, right? He was going to jail. She was certain, now, that this wasn't a trap- she'd seen Cooper pull those off before. The raccoon couldn't help being conceitedly aware when he was reeling someone in, and this performance held none of the usual trademarks. The great Sly Cooper was standing there, locked up, ready to be thrown in prison- and he was doing nothing to stop it._

_And it left her feeling like the villain._

_How does a COP end up feeling like a villain in this scenario?_

_She tried to push past it by thinking about what Sly said. If she was truly sincere with herself, she'd done this more often than she liked to believe. This time, thankfully, her own personal blushes were spared, and she instead thought back to the Panda King's appeal hearing._

_The man had looked old. In general. Certainly, he had been older- he was in his mid 50's when he'd been arrested, and the years had started to show, with grey hairs entwining into his black and white coat. He sat tall in the chair, and yet still seemed stooped- despite a heavy workout regime within the prison gym, he had obviously gained a few pounds of fat, and even through the prison garb it was clear that he was starting to sag. But there was a psychological aura of age as well- a feeling of lethargy that made everyone around the panda aware that this man was born during a World War._

_He had spoken calmly of his regret for his actions, as Carmelita had sat besides the prison warder, an old vulture named Tomask who insisted on tapping his claws on the hard floor like the countdown to an execution, and the prison psychologist, a bubbly Labrador with a shirt that read 'Gator's gonna gate!'_

_(She really didn't understand internet humour)_

_She'd tried to keep her focus on what the old man was saying, on his sedate speech and soft words, but she was getting more and more frustrated by the clack of talon on tile. By the time the Panda King had finished his answer to the psychologist's questions, Carmelita would have been quite glad to have a handful of his fireworks to shove down the throat of the bird sitting next to her._

_The reminder of those deadly weapons, and what they could do, brought her back into the interrogation, thankfully. Unfortunately, the man she was supposed to be assessing was being removed from the room. Cursing under her breath, she glanced up towards his eyes._

_She'd never been a great believer in using expression to inform judgement. In her profession, a smile could come before a knife, or a gun, or a cane assisted kiss and a quick handcuff getaway (thankfully her superiors only knew about the former two). But it was a technique some of her co-workers swore by, and though sometimes she doubted the competency of her co-workers, she realised that, occasionally, their ideas did hit the mark._

_One look at those eyes informed her decision more than any of the prison psychiatrist's questions._

_She tried to explain it to Sly, stumbling through explanations that she knew were rambling, almost nonsensical. She realised, partway through, the complete absurdity of the situation- HE was he prisoner! She should be securing an evacuation request, administering some sort of anaesthetic drug to the thief, and concluding her case report (not to mention planning her night in with a certain bottle of champagne), not discussing the psychological transformation of a mass murderer into a zen priest with him._

_She ploughed on though, and to his credit, Sly said nothing. He seemed to absorb the information somehow, like a plant greedily drinking in sunlight. (She was comparing Sly Cooper to a flower. Great.) His interest kept her going, though she wondered how much he was actually listening to the words, and how much he was hearing what he wanted to._

"_The eyes," she finished, tapping her shock pistol against his head, "were still angry. But it wasn't a fury of cruelty any more. It was justice."_

"_Justice," Sly muttered derisively. "When has justice ever done anything for me? Justice is a waste of time."_

_Cooper would not make many mistakes in his wooing of Carmelita, but this moment was one of them. One moment, Carmelita was stood in disbelief at what had come out of Sly's mouth- the next, Cooper was on the floor with a lump on the top of his head, and she was screaming a collection of Spanish and English swear words at him, every filthy name and brutal label blasting from her mouth with a force similar to her shock pistol on full power._

_Justice was HER LIFE'S WORK, and there was no way in hell she was going to let this asshole denigrate that._

_It took blood for her to realise that, realistically, beating the thief into a pulp would not only mean more paperwork, but also wouldn't exactly get her point about justice across to him. She wanted to keep going, of course, to make him apologise. But she was just tired of the shouting, tired of the rivalry, tired of the chasing and the running, tired..._

_Wait._

_Oh, that bastardo turtle._

_She could feel the pinprick now, a sharp pinch that came from her torso. Her adrenaline had worked against her, pumping the drug around her veins. Carmelita slumped to the ground next to Cooper; but she had just enough energy to punch him in the leg. Her eyelids closed, satisfied by the pained grunt she heard as she fell unconscious._

_Waking up from anaesthetic was always an unpleasant business. Carmelita almost invariably had a headache, and this time, she seemed to have the grogginess that came with a well aimed shot, close to the bloodstream. There was a touch of nausea too, which Carmelita desperately hoped would disappear before she tried to move._

_On the plus side, she appeared to be wrapped in a blanket on her bedroll. And there was a pleasant smell of croissant and __Beurre d'Isigny, freshly warmed and ready for consumption._

_Which was odd, considering she was in China._

_She pushed herself up, wincing at the combined assaults of the drug hangover on her body. She was back in her temporary headquarters- a cabin overlooking the palace, presumably abandoned by the guards due to its redundancy- the perimeter of Tsao's domain stretched far beyond the reach of this shack, and the guards barely even glanced at it on their patrols. Her radio sat on a rickety old table, with a wooden stool that would be more useful as firewood than seating anywhere else beside it. Her gas stove lay on the floor in the corner across from her sleeping mat. There was no light- only her torch, which lay on the table, shining onto an unfamiliar tray._

_This was where the food lay._

_Carmelita stood and walked over to the table, bemused by pretty much everything this situation had to offer. She tapped her fingers on the edge of the tray, noticing the flask that also stood on the side. She opened the lid and sniffed. Coffee. Some blend she didn't know, but it certainly smelt good._

_So he'd known about her favourite breakfast, but not her favourite brand of coffee. He must have seen her at a cafe, not in her house. Maybe it was at Lucio's- or perhaps that time at Le Café Joyeux, when she'd been certain she'd seen him standing on a nearby rooftop while she was out with Barkley._

_Carmelita didn't need detective work to work out who had done this. For starters, nobody else would invade her privacy enough to know her favourite breakfast. Nobody else would be weird enough to be able to produce the aforementioned breakfast at a moment's notice either. And finally, one of his irritating cards was leaning against the plate, with his looping script written on it._

_She knew she was being harsh but she felt he deserved it after yesterday._

_She picked up the card and, reluctantly, read the short message._

"_I'm sorry. You didn't deserve that. Promise our next meeting will be more fun. Thank you for the words. Enjoy breakfast! x."_

_Huh. Reasonably sincere. Maybe there was hope for that raccoon yet._

_Especially if he kept bringing her croissants._

_She put down the card, knowing already that she was going to add it to all the others in her case folder, and picked up a croissant instead. _

_She was going to need a long vacation to work out what was going on. _

_After she captured Cooper here in China, that is. No way was that ringtail thief going to get off easy just because he got her breakfast. Who did he think she was? Besides, it'd be easier to have a conversation with him if he was handcuffed to a cell door._

* * *

"Of course, I did catch you again." Carmelita said, standing by the oven and setting the timer for the Lasagne to cook.

"Because I let you." Sly chuckled as he stood behind her, leaning against a cupboard, arms folded.

Carmelita didn't rise to the bait. They'd already hashed out this one before. "But we didn't have time for a conversation. Then the business with Tsao wrapped up..."

"I never did get to see you on your wedding day." Sly raised a hand to his forehead in mock despair.

"It was... electrifying." The vixen smirked.

Sly leaned over and pulled her into his embrace, her back to his chest. "Puns? From my sweet Inspector's lips? What's gone wrong?"

"Ha ha, ringtail." Carmelita lent her head back onto his shoulder. "After that, I was forced to take a break. Barkley made me promise not to work more than 6 weeks straight after the whole Clock-La business."

"And then you rode in and saved the day." Sly said, "With an entire platoon of mercenaries, no less. Do you know how long it took me to get a squad together in order to get onto that island? And then you just sail on in and start blasting away."

"Oh, you're complaining now. Maybe I should have let you get squished." Carmelita gave him a pointed look as his hands began to get frisky again, pulling at the bottom of the T-shirt. She put her hands over his, holding them in place as she turned and looked at him. "Did it help?"

Sly rubbed the fabric between his fingers as he nodded. Then, he pulled her in.

She moaned through the kiss, feeling his hands rush upwards underneath the shirt. Breathless, she pulled away slightly, and breathed out, voice laced with conflict, "Dinner..."

Sly pulled her back in, already pulling her shirt up. "40 minutes to cook. Plenty of time."


End file.
